wouldn’t hang in her face. He liked how the movement exposed her neck. He even liked her animated expressions as her fingers flew across the keyboard.
Singularly focused, that was Jen. And right now, her focus wasn’t anywhere near him. Not that he’d expected it to be.
He leaned his back against the barn door and turned his head to look out at the field again. That ragged expanse of grass and gravel cupped many of his memories in its dips and rises, but perhaps none as strong as Jen’s last night in Gleann. It had been a cloudy, hot night, and they’d spread a blanket right there in the center, where no house or town lights reached. Just them.
“Can I come say goodbye before I leave tomorrow?”
Her words struck his back as he stomped across the fairgrounds, the Cadillac parked crookedly on the other side of the gate.
“Don’t bother,” he shouted into the darkness. “Sounds like you’re taking care of that tonight.”
Maybe that’s why he’d never been able to give his heart away to anyone else over the past ten years: because it was still here where Jen had smacked it down, and every time someone walked or drove across the field, they ground it deeper into the dirt.
Since he’d steered her through the fairground gates, she hadn’t even looked in the direction of that scene. Not even a single glance. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Once upon a time he’d been the one to start everything, and look how they’d ended up. Besides, did it even matter anymore?
Leaving the laptop as though she’d heard his thoughts, she walked past him out of the barn. She stood staring out at the empty fairgrounds for what seemed like an hour. His heart picked up its rhythm. He couldn’t see her face and he was dying to see her reaction, to watch the memories come back to her, but he didn’t want to seem obvious.
When she turned around with her brow wrinkled, her breath hitched as though she was preparing to say something. He pushed away from the door, expectant.
Instead, she circled around him, heading in the opposite direction of that fateful patch of grass. She peered around the corner of the barn, to where a narrow drive shot past the splintered, angled posts of Loughlin’s cattle pasture and emptied into the vast, empty parking lot surrounding the vacant Hemmertex building.
She turned back around, her eyes as brilliant as the grass. “What do you know about the Hemmertex land over there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does Loughlin own that, too?”
He looked over at Loughlin’s rotting fences and decaying properties. “No, he sold that parcel. I know the company who owns it now; it’s not Hemmertex.”
“You do?”
“Um, yeah.” He cringed. “Don’t be influenced by what you see now, but I did all that landscaping.”
Her eyes popped wide and he caught a faint smile as she turned back around to survey the work he’d done—and that had since gone to weed and overgrowth—years and years ago. Sweeping lawns surrounded the building. The CEO had once thrown company picnics there. Leith had constructed a small amphitheater near the cafeteria door, where on some Fridays there had been musicians. Chris had played his fiddle there once or twice.
“I’m good,” he felt the need to add. “Better than corporate, better than that. Go take a look at some of the huge homes up in the hills, if you want.”
He told himself that the slow, sly smile she threw him over her shoulder had no heat in it. None whatsoever.
“I believe you,” she said. “Can you get me contact info for the Hemmertex landowners?”
He’d have to dig out his computer from storage. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
As she turned back around, her appearance—the shoulders-back confidence, the stunning, mature beauty—sent a blast of such powerful desire through him, he actually took a step back.
“Because I want to move the games over there,” she said.
Leith hissed through his teeth and shook his
Singularly focused, that was Jen. And right now, her focus wasn’t anywhere near him. Not that he’d expected it to be.
He leaned his back against the barn door and turned his head to look out at the field again. That ragged expanse of grass and gravel cupped many of his memories in its dips and rises, but perhaps none as strong as Jen’s last night in Gleann. It had been a cloudy, hot night, and they’d spread a blanket right there in the center, where no house or town lights reached. Just them.
“Can I come say goodbye before I leave tomorrow?”
Her words struck his back as he stomped across the fairgrounds, the Cadillac parked crookedly on the other side of the gate.
“Don’t bother,” he shouted into the darkness. “Sounds like you’re taking care of that tonight.”
Maybe that’s why he’d never been able to give his heart away to anyone else over the past ten years: because it was still here where Jen had smacked it down, and every time someone walked or drove across the field, they ground it deeper into the dirt.
Since he’d steered her through the fairground gates, she hadn’t even looked in the direction of that scene. Not even a single glance. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Once upon a time he’d been the one to start everything, and look how they’d ended up. Besides, did it even matter anymore?
Leaving the laptop as though she’d heard his thoughts, she walked past him out of the barn. She stood staring out at the empty fairgrounds for what seemed like an hour. His heart picked up its rhythm. He couldn’t see her face and he was dying to see her reaction, to watch the memories come back to her, but he didn’t want to seem obvious.
When she turned around with her brow wrinkled, her breath hitched as though she was preparing to say something. He pushed away from the door, expectant.
Instead, she circled around him, heading in the opposite direction of that fateful patch of grass. She peered around the corner of the barn, to where a narrow drive shot past the splintered, angled posts of Loughlin’s cattle pasture and emptied into the vast, empty parking lot surrounding the vacant Hemmertex building.
She turned back around, her eyes as brilliant as the grass. “What do you know about the Hemmertex land over there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does Loughlin own that, too?”
He looked over at Loughlin’s rotting fences and decaying properties. “No, he sold that parcel. I know the company who owns it now; it’s not Hemmertex.”
“You do?”
“Um, yeah.” He cringed. “Don’t be influenced by what you see now, but I did all that landscaping.”
Her eyes popped wide and he caught a faint smile as she turned back around to survey the work he’d done—and that had since gone to weed and overgrowth—years and years ago. Sweeping lawns surrounded the building. The CEO had once thrown company picnics there. Leith had constructed a small amphitheater near the cafeteria door, where on some Fridays there had been musicians. Chris had played his fiddle there once or twice.
“I’m good,” he felt the need to add. “Better than corporate, better than that. Go take a look at some of the huge homes up in the hills, if you want.”
He told himself that the slow, sly smile she threw him over her shoulder had no heat in it. None whatsoever.
“I believe you,” she said. “Can you get me contact info for the Hemmertex landowners?”
He’d have to dig out his computer from storage. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
As she turned back around, her appearance—the shoulders-back confidence, the stunning, mature beauty—sent a blast of such powerful desire through him, he actually took a step back.
“Because I want to move the games over there,” she said.
Leith hissed through his teeth and shook his
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